I do not have children, because I don't hate myself. Also because I think I'm too young. But mostly because I don't hate myself.
In movies, having a baby is depicted as 90 percent cuddling in bed and 10 percent drinking another cup of coffee in the morning because your sleep was "a bit weird."
But the reality of the matter is babies and toddlers are pooping, vomiting, shout-crying goblins who you cannot help but love enough to take a bullet for -- should the need arise.
I imagine that cocktail of emotions must feel pretty surreal. As it stands, if anyone poops on my carpet, unless it is a pug, I don't like him or her. But one day, my favorite person in the world is going to punch me in the dick for not buying him or her a pretzel.
Such is life. And it is summed up perfectly by this distraught dad's texts to his wife one fateful afternoon.
Let's let the dad set up this text exchange in his own, highly eloquent words -- which he wrote in this Facebook post. He began,
Last night I was supposed to watch the kids, so my wife and I swapped cars after work so she could head out with some friends. On the way home, projectile vomit occurred and the whole time my wife wasn't answering her phone... See the ensuing text messages.
The inciting incident was a simple case of projectile vomiting — a normal enough event for humans new to, you know, being alive.
Unfortunately, said vomit smelled of, as he described a little later, "ROTTING WHALE BLUBBER."
Then the dad started throwing up.
The silver lining? Good thing there is no such thing as "sympathetic pooping" -- or else the whole diaper game would be fundamentally changed.
Wow, this escalated quickly.
I like to think the mom was just reading the texts and laughing.